


Coming Down

by deanlovescastielswormstache



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Casual Sex, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6206848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanlovescastielswormstache/pseuds/deanlovescastielswormstache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They always walked to Enjolras’ after meetings. Even if they didn’t fuck, Grantaire would accompany him home, to the flat he lived in by himself since Combeferre moved in with Courfeyrac. He hadn’t bothered getting a new roommate, since he and Grantaire had started their thing soon afterward. If Enjolras felt like having sex, he invited Grantaire up to the apartment. If not, Grantaire continued home with a casual wave, and a hand sneaking towards his pocket for a cigarette. Though Enjolras didn’t invite Grantaire up with him all the time, Grantaire said yes every time. Enjolras tried not to read too much into this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Down

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Giulia and Nika for beta-ing this fic. Also thank you Nika for sending me this prompt and cause mutual suffering. Title from Halsey song.

To be honest, Enjolras had seen it coming for months. There was only so long that you could avoid arguments by having hot, angry (and so _fucking_  hot) sex. Enjolras was always busy with something: work, the Cause, trying to not be terrified by the possible combustion of any fragile bonds he had formed with Grantaire, and being distracted by Grantaire’s hands and the thought of maybe someday being able to hold them in his own as they fell asleep, peacefully. They hadn’t ever had any semblance of peace in their relationship. Grantaire pushed too hard and Enjolras never gave an inch. They were very different people and they clashed in brutal, terrifying, heart-stopping ways. And Enjolras was so desperately in love with Grantaire, in the silences where Grantaire was humming to himself and Enjolras could almost imagine that they were a normal couple.

 

They’d never had a ‘where is the relationship’ talk. The whole thing had started with no warning; an argument with raised voices, and then pushing frantically against each other as they scrabbled viciously at each other’s flesh, and Enjolras still shivers thinking about it and the way those scratches stayed deliciously raw the whole day afterward at work, during the meeting. Ever since, it was always sex. Not that Enjolras minded it; in fact the sex was mind-blowing. It was just that Enjolras didn’t just want sex. He didn’t really know what he wanted, but he definitely didn’t want what was happening now. He didn’t want Grantaire to roll out of bed immediately after they caught their breath just to leave without a word. He didn’t want Grantaire’s biting edge of sarcasm tingeing everything, he wanted more of the soft Grantaire from before, the laughter and the ramblings that seemed to go nowhere but brought Enjolras so much joy in the hidden gems within. He wanted to hold hands and kiss him without the act of sex immediately afterwards. He wanted to show other people that he was lucky enough that Grantaire would choose to be with him.

 

They hadn’t fought since they started sleeping together, but they hardly talked or even made eye contact, though Enjolras spent plenty of time staring at Grantaire's curls during meetings and pretending that he was okay when he never looked back. Enjolras could feel the tension building between his shoulders and the wrinkle in his brow deepening and he knew that he was on the verge of breaking, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop himself from reaching for Grantaire when he came to him.

 

He contented himself with what Grantaire seemed to want, sex. For all they clashed outside of the bedroom, Grantaire was unbelievably tender in the bedroom. He caressed Enjolras face, dropped kisses on every inch of skin he could reach, pushed his hair from his forehead, letting their bodies languish in each other. Enjolras liked it a little too much; he could pretend that this was Grantaire _loving_ him, and not a mutual gratification of an urge. He would rather that Grantaire fucked him hard and fast if he was going to act the same afterwards, like it was just a friends-with-benefits situation. All of the lines were blurring because it felt an awful lot like making love, but Grantaire wouldn’t meet his eye during meetings and Enjolras felt worse about the entire situation than before they’d started this arrangement.

 

It all started during a meeting when Grantaire made some offhand comment about romantic love being an illusion that capitalism wanted you to buy into. He was clearly not being serious, as his inclusion of anti-capitalism indicated. But Enjolras couldn’t help but cringe when he overheard it, somehow feeling that it was directed towards him though none of their other friends knew about their liaison. Walking home with Grantaire that evening, he kept running the remark through his head. What hurt more wasn’t the actual content of the comment so much as the way it was said: contemptuous and bitter. Like love wasn’t worth his time. Like Enjolras would never get a relationship from this.

 

They always walked to Enjolras’ after meetings. Even if they didn’t fuck, Grantaire would accompany him home, to the flat he lived in by himself since Combeferre moved in with Courfeyrac. He hadn’t bothered getting a new roommate, since he and Grantaire had started their thing soon afterward. If Enjolras felt like having sex, he invited Grantaire up to the apartment. If not, Grantaire continued home with a casual wave, and a hand sneaking towards his pocket for a cigarette. Though Enjolras didn’t invite Grantaire up with him all the time, Grantaire said yes every time. Enjolras tried not to read too much into this.

 

Tonight, Enjolras invited him up. He wanted to be held, even if only for a few short-lived moments, even if it usually left him feeling worse off than before. He was feeling melancholy and lonely since he usually went home to a cold, empty apartment. Grantaire followed him up, and Enjolras offered him a glass of wine, wanting to prolong Grantaire’s presence. His apartment already felt lighter and warmer with Grantaire here and Enjolras wanted it to last forever. Grantaire accepted the drink, something that only rarely happened when he was alone with Enjolras, as if he was afraid that of the line of questioning that would follow. Enjolras would’ve have never guessed before they slept together that Grantaire was a fuck-and-leave person, hardly speaking except when necessary. Perhaps Enjolras accepted the long rambles that seemed to smear themselves across Grantaire’s life, but it would appear that Grantaire preferred to leave casual sex succinct.

 

“How are your latest commissions going?” Enjolras asked, sipping his wine slowly, dismayed to see that Grantaire had already made it halfway through his glass.

 

“They’re going ok, I guess. I got asked to replicate Van Gogh’s sunflower painting, which is a very tall order, and my next commission was to paint some old ladies five cats, so I guess it keeps me on my toes.” Some of Grantaire’s snark was peeking through the mask, and Enjolras couldn’t help but to smile weakly at that. Whether from relief at the familiarity or politeness, Enjolras didn’t know.

 

“Did she give you a picture or did you have to do a sitting?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire huffed a laugh. It almost felt normal. Almost.

 

“She gave me a picture, thank fuck. If I had to do a live sit-in I’d turn down the commission, starving artist be damned.” Grantaire had finished most of his wine and was swirling the dregs of it, his eyes fixed on the way the wine attached itself to the sides of the glass. Enjolras got the feeling that it was more the fact that he wanted to avoid Enjolras’ gaze than the fact that the wine was mesmerizing.

 

Enjolras found that he had nothing more to say. That wasn’t true. He had so much to say to Grantaire, but nothing could make it past his lips. Grantaire took that to mean that he was done with his wine, though his glass wasn’t nearly as empty as Grantaire’s. He stepped forward, placing his glass on the counter and placing a warm, firm hand on Enjolras’ side while relieving him of his glass as well before sliding them together, kissing Enjolras softly, wine tingeing his every movement, his lips, his eyelids heavy, the hand sliding down towards Enjolras’ ass, and Enjolras hadn’t had very much wine at all, but Grantaire made him feel inebriated and he pulled himself away from Grantaire’s lips long enough to gasp “Bedroom.”

 

Once the bedroom door shut behind them, there was no hesitation. Enjolras pushed Grantaire back against the door, while tugging his curls to pull him forward to his lips. It was filthy and fast, Enjolras’ tongue in Grantaire’s mouth, and Grantaire’s hands had wandered under Enjolras’ shirt, one tracing his hipbone, and the other making it’s way up his back, thumbing the bumps of his spine. Enjolras had a hand in the soft inky curls and he moved his mouth down the column of Grantaire’s neck, feeling Grantaire’s hot breath coming out in gasps against his hair as Enjolras worked the elegantly sculpted collarbone with his tongue.

 

Grantaire finally managed to get Enjolras’ shirt off and he returned the favor before nimbly working Grantaire’s pants off of him. “You’re beautiful,” Grantaire whispered and Enjolras blushed, he knew it, feeling a scalding warmth spread down his neck and chest. Enjolras couldn’t think of a time he had loved Grantaire more than at this moment and he wanted to convey the tightness of his chest, but before he found the words or even his tongue, Grantaire moved to pull him closer. It was probably for the best. Enjolras really didn’t think this was a time for a love confession. Though he was coming to learn that perfectly timed love confessions were overrated.

 

Grantaire drew Enjolras to him again, more slowly this time, and kissed Enjolras slowly, languidly, relearning the shape of his lips, the slide of his velvety tongue. Enjolras felt he could lose himself in Grantaire. He bit Grantaire’s lower lip, trying to remind himself this was a fuck, not a love-making session, and he felt a jolt in his stomach as Grantaire moaned into his mouth, tugging Enjolras’ hair.

 

Eventually Grantaire pushed Enjolras towards the bed. Enjolras sorely missed having Grantaire pushed up against the door, but the bed meant that they could lie down and Grantaire could cover Enjolras’ body with his, which was a nifty perk. On their way, Enjolras struggled with his pants, getting them off in an awkward hop and leaving them half inside out on the floor.

 

Grantaire pushed him lightly on to the bed, and Enjolras hooked a finger in Grantaire’s boxer waistband, pulling him after. Grantaire slowed it down as usual, lavishing attention on his collarbone as Enjolras traced patterns on Grantaire’s back before deciding he wanted to speed up the proceedings, tugging Grantaire’s hair. That always seemed to do the trick, and it worked again this time. “Enjolras,” Grantaire moaned, and looked at Enjolras, wide pupils meeting equally wide pupils. Enjolras saw the want there and shivered in anticipation. Grantaire had never looked so ravishing.

 

Grantaire rapidly divested them of their underwear and then it was all skin on skin. It seemed like they wouldn’t make it much longer tonight, and Grantaire got a hand between them, getting them both off at once. Grantaire was talented like that. Grantaire’s eyes were fixed on Enjolras’ face, and he didn’t know what Grantaire saw there, but he knew he was fighting hard to keep from blurting out something stupid, like the four letter word that was bouncing around on his tongue.    

 

Sex was a perfect allegory for their relationship. The tension built, and built, and then one stimulus would be too much and then they would be spiraling out of control, only to come down and do it all over, because there was something about that high that kept them hooked, whether it was arguing or fucking. This time, it was Grantaire biting Enjolras’ nipple, and he was gone. Grantaire followed almost immediately, and slumped on top of Enjolras, both of the riding the dregs of the high together, their thundering hearts beating against each other’s chest, and Enjolras couldn’t separate his from Grantaire’s, though he tried valiantly. Enjolras liked being crushed by Grantaire more than he could admit.

 

After a few minutes, Grantaire disentangled himself, grabbing Enjolras’ shirt to clean themselves up. Enjolras would complain, but when Grantaire left it would be proof that he had indeed been here. He rolled over, watching Grantaire silently pull on his clothes. “Stay,” he blurted out. Grantaire froze, one foot in his jeans. Enjolras tried not to admire the view.

 

“I don’t think that’s a great idea, Enjolras,” Grantaire said. It was the most he’d ever said after sex.

 

“Please, Grantaire? I hate sleeping alone.” Enjolras winced as soon as the words left his mouth. It was too much for casual sex. You weren’t supposed to confess secrets to your fuck buddy.

 

Grantaire hesitated before dropping the jeans to the floor with a dry slap and crawling back into bed, slinging an arm around Enjolras’ middle. “I hate sleeping alone too,” Grantaire mumbled into Enjolras’ shoulder. “You tell anyone about this and you’re dead.” Enjolras nodded, but Grantaire had already drifted off. That was a pleasant surprise. How did he make it back to his flat if he passed out five minutes after sex? He pushed the thought out of his head, focusing on Grantaire’s ticklish breath against his skin, before being claimed by sleep.

 

He woke up to a cold bed and no trace that Grantaire was ever there except for the head indent in the pillow. Enjolras moved his head to replace the indent and was engulfed by Grantaire’s piney scent. Enjolras tried to pretend that he was surprised, but deep down he knew that he had expected Grantaire to be gone. He was always the one that did the leaving.

 

 

 *     *     *

 

 

Enjolras didn’t think there was anything unusual about the fact that Grantaire spent part of the night with him, but apparently Grantaire did, because he didn’t show up to the next meeting. Or the one after that. And his friends noticed.

 

“What did you do?” Jehan asked, indignant, at the end of the meeting, which seemed to be less lively without Grantaire’s sparkling laughter.

 

“Why did I do anything?” Enjolras replied, not even pretending that he didn’t know what Jehan was referring to. His friends might not know that they were sleeping together, but they weren’t dumb.

 

“Because you are usually the one who did something if there was something to be done,” Combeferre added dryly while he pushed his glasses back up his nose, and he was so lucky he lived with Courfeyrac now or he’d get hell for that at home. Oh, who was Enjolras kidding. No one could push Combeferre around.

 

“I didn’t do anything, I swear. He’ll just be busy. He’ll come back around soon.” Enjolras lied, making sure to sound succinct and confident as usual, despite the seed of doubt in his heart.

 

Grantaire didn’t come back for the next meeting or the one after that. Soon, two weeks had passed and no one had seen Grantaire. He had texted a few people, Joly and Jehan mostly, and Enjolras tried not to be jealous, but he couldn’t help the visceral reaction of his gut when Joly shared the puns that Grantaire had made via text to the meeting. _Why hadn’t Grantaire talked to him?_ Grantaire was fine, they said. He’s swamped from work, Joly said. “He needed some space to clear his head,” Feuilly added, and no one asked what Grantaire needed to clear his head from. Enjolras hated being out of the loop, but he couldn’t very well ask them.

 

A month passed, and Enjolras was about to pull out his hair. It wasn’t just that he was sexually frustrated; it was that he would see Grantaire everywhere. A certain profile, a flash of dark curls, ratty beanies, the scent of cigarettes. All of them made him turn to look for Grantaire. He always felt worse after these constant reminders of what was absent. He thinks idly, that crushed is an aptly suited word to describe how he is feeling. Left in pieces and forgotten. Unable to put himself together. There was a Grantaire-shaped hole in his life, and it felt so very wrong. Like driving down the left side of the street.

 

Two months after they’d actually slept together instead of just fucking, Grantaire strolled into a meeting five minutes late, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and Enjolras’ mind blanked absolutely at the sight of him there, wine-colored jacket and tattered jeans so familiar that Enjolras could feel his heart split. First came a wave of relief; _he is all right_. Then came rage. How could he just waltz in like that, after going incognito for months, like Enjolras wouldn’t miss him every instant, like he didn’t care about Enjolras?

 

He doesn’t know how he makes it through the rest of the meeting, but he ends it early. He needs to talk to Grantaire. Apparently, everyone else had the same idea; friends flooded towards him as soon as the meeting was over. He met Grantaire’s eyes over the crowd, and nodded his head towards the door, not attempting to hide his anger. Grantaire got the message and not five minutes later, they were head towards Enjolras’ again, like everything was normal. Or normal for them anyway. Enjolras could feel irritation itching up his spine, rage bubbling under his temples, desperation anchoring his heart to this man beside him, a good arms length away from him, almost as if afraid to get within touching distance. They made it to Enjolras’ without incident and Enjolras didn’t have to invite him up, because Grantaire followed without hesitation, like a lamb before the slaughter. Enjolras hated that his brain conjured that image.

  

 

 *     *     * 

 

 

“What did I do wrong, Grantaire? I feel like I at least deserve to know why you called it off. We were having fun, weren’t we?” Enjolras hated that he said that, but he was trying very hard not to fall apart and confess his apparently unwanted feelings for Grantaire. After all, fun was all it was for Grantaire, wasn’t it?

 

Grantaire let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, you could call it that I guess.” He had his hands shoved deeply in his pockets, causing his shoulders to come up, hunching himself protectively. Against what, Enjolras didn’t know. He hoped it wasn’t him, because he didn’t like the idea that Grantaire needed protection from him.

 

“Well, I think you owe me at least a sentence of explanation.”

 

Grantaire finally looked up, meeting Enjolras’ eyes head-on for the first time since they had started this horrendously awkward conversation. Enjolras was struck by how bloodshot and tired they appeared. “We’re just not meant to be together.”

 

“Bullshit. What does that even mean, Grantaire?” Enjolras tried to ignore the sinking in his chest, the edge of nausea that seemed to overwhelm him at once. He had to put a hand on the counter to steady himself. He tried not to look like his heart was shattering with every word that came out of Grantaire’s mouth. He tried to act like the worst thing about that sentence was that Grantaire had actually just used one sentence because he was a stubborn ass.

 

Grantaire seemed taken aback by the ferocity in Enjolras’ tone. “I mean, look at you! You’re gorgeous and I am nothing in comparison. I honestly have no idea how you are attracted to me. I’m just a scruffy, poor artist that does mediocre renditions of old ladies cats and has extremely contradictory views on any issue you could name.”

 

“Grantaire, do you not trust me to know what I’m attracted to?” Enjolras could feel it now. The tightening in his gut. The Fight was coming.

 

“Fuck if I know Apollo, but you have to admit this whole bit is suspicious, that you would want to sleep with me, I still haven’t decided whether or not you are seriously attracted to me or doing it for fun or on a dare-” By now, Grantaire had raised his voice considerably, and Enjolras almost felt relieved. This was more normal, this was familiar territory. He might be able to make it through the argument without bursting into tears.

 

“What the fuck are you on about?” Enjolras finally let go, his voice a yell by now. “Don’t you know me well enough by now to know that I wouldn’t sleep with you on a _dare_ or to laugh at you? Do you know how many consent issues are going on there? Why would you _ever_ think that?”

 

They had moved closer, drawn together, whether through anger or lust was hard to tell at this point. Enjolras thinks that it was probably hard to tell from the moment they met, and they hadn’t gotten much better at figuring out the difference. Mostly because they’d put their time to better use, learning how they fit together.

 

“Because why else would you fuck me? If I’m not a pity fuck, then I can only assume you have feelings for me, which is absolutely preposterous. So just be honest, Enjolras. I can take it.”

 

“I am being honest, what do you think I’ve been doing the whole time?”

 

“Something about this whole thing smells fishy to me, so just tell me for once and for all, why did you fuck me?”

 

_“Because I’m in love with you!”_

 

A deafening silence fell, and Enjolras had most definitely not meant to play that card, had kind of planned on bringing that particular secret to the grave. But it did feel so much lighter having that out in the open. The two men eyed each other, chests heaving. Enjolras had difficulty meeting Grantaire’s gaze, but he forced himself to meet the electric blue scrutinizing him.

 

“What did you say?” Grantaire said, although it was more of a whisper, raspy against Enjolras’ red ears. He tried not to read anything into Grantaire’s reaction. He’d be weirded out. He’d leave, possibly forever. Enjolras would watch him go; he’d gotten good practice in the past few months.

 

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” Enjolras said, heart hammering through his fingertips and the back of his neck feeling damp. “I never wanted just sex. I probably should have told you from the beginning, but we never talked about it, and I didn’t want to freak you out.”

 

Grantaire’s face was incredulous, his eyebrows high, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Enjolras waited for his response, trying not to act like he was about to combust at any moment. “Well that’s awfully convenient,” Grantaire said, huffing out a laugh, and Enjolras felt he was missing a vital piece of information.

 

“How is this convenient?” Enjolras asked, trying not to let irritation seep into his voice, but most likely failing.

 

Grantaire took a step towards Enjolras, a surprise, since that was the first time they’d been within a foot of each other in months, and Enjolras tried so very hard to not look like he was breathing in Grantaire’s scent. “Because I happen to be in love with you too. Since the moment I met you, I believe.”

 

This time, it was Enjolras’ turn for his jaw to drop. He could tell Grantaire was looking smug, but he couldn’t care less. “I see,” Enjolras stammers. “I suppose that leaves us in a bit of a predicament.”

 

“Allow me to solve said predicament,” Grantaire said, sliding his arms around Enjolras’ waist, and he tried not to close his eyes at how good it felt to have Grantaire pressed against him once more. “Enjolras, will you be my boyfriend?”

 

“Of course,” Enjolras said without hesitation, bridging the gap between them to slot their lips together, and it was so much better than he remembered. He still couldn’t believe he wasn’t dreaming.

 

“Okay, _boyfriend_ , want to have sex?” Grantaire said, grinning wickedly, and Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat. Whether it was hearing the word boyfriend, or Grantaire’s eyes glinting with promise, Enjolras didn’t know, but he was completely gone..

 

“No, Grantaire. I want to make love,” Enjolras responded, his heart soaring. Grantaire demonstrated his exaggeration by rolling his eyes, though he dropped a quick kiss on Enjolras’ forehead, before sliding his hand down Enjolras’ arm and linking their fingers together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Come say hi on [tumblr](http://pucks-and-pies.tumblr.com) or on my [Les Mis blog](http://permets-tu-not-permettez-vous.tumblr.com).


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